


Sonata, 2nd Movement

by BstnStrg13



Category: Moonlight (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BstnStrg13/pseuds/BstnStrg13
Summary: In "Sonata" (the end of the series),  Beth and Mick declare their love and decide to move forward with their relationship.  What happens next?   This story imagines one possibility -- in which Beth and Mick solve a mystery and negotiate the ins and outs of living as a vampire/human couple.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> For Kim, who wanted me to try to write a vampire story.

With all the things that have been written about vampires over the years, you'd think someone would have gotten it right. From Bram Stoker to Anne Rice to Stephanie Meyer (and the sparkly Edward Cullen in _Twilight_ ), there's over a century of literature, movies and television depicting the blood-drinking immortals. I was never a huge fan of the genre myself – at least not the way some girls are. Yeah, I made it a point to see Brad Pitt in _Interview with the Vampire,_ but that's because it was Brad Pitt in his delicious, smokin'-hot prime; not because the movie was about vampires. And I admit to tuning into _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ on occasion, but it was never Must-See-TV for me. To be honest, I prefer a good police procedural.

But I'm getting off the point. The point is that with all the thousands of works out there featuring vampires, not a single one has managed to get every detail correct. If you've watched more than one vampire show, you'll know exactly what I mean. Some writers have vampires bursting into flames in the sunlight; others allow them to walk freely about during the day. There are vampires who fall into a dead stupor when the sun comes up; and vampires who can never catch a wink of sleep. Vampires who can fly, vampires who turn into bats, vampires who drive fancy cars…you get the idea. There are so many inconsistencies that I can only conclude the writers avoided even minimal research. I suppose they were more interested in putting their stamp of originality on their stories than they were in accuracy.

Hell, even when it comes to drinking blood, the writers can't agree. Admittedly, they all _have_ their vamps drinking blood because – hey – it's kind of the definition, right? But some make it a casual dining experience, while for others it's a feeding frenzy, sure to result in the death of an unfortunate human. You'd like to think they could get this one right, particularly if you're planning on spending any time with vampires. It could mean the difference between bringing a good cabernet to dinner versus arriving with stakes and holy water.

I'm guessing you're wondering why I'm so opinionated on the subject, especially since I just told you that I'm not a fan of the vampire genre. The answer is simple; I'm dating a vampire. No – don't look at me like that, I swear to you I haven't lost my mind. My name is Beth Turner and my boyfriend _is_ a vampire. He's a Los Angeles private detective named Mick St. John, and we met about a year ago when he was investigating a murder that I was covering as a reporter. At the time I had no idea that he was one of LA's undead. He seemed as human as the next guy, apart from having a talent for disappearing the moment I turned my head. It wasn't until a criminal bent on revenge went after him with silver buckshot and a flame-thrower that I learned the truth. I walked in on Mick in his apartment and found him sucking down a bag of A-Positive in an effort to heal his wounds. And if I'd still had doubts after that, the appearance of his fangs had sealed the deal.

It's fair to say that I was pretty wigged out. It took me a couple of weeks to deal with the whole _vampires really exist_ thing, and then I had a list of questions as long as your arm that I wanted Mick to answer. He responded to some and evaded a few, which is about par in my book for any new guy I meet - mortal _or_ immortal. Eventually, I was able to accept that Mick truly is a vampire. I think living in LA helps. After all, if you stop a dozen people on our streets, you'll find at least half of them are on some kind of special diet. There'll be a fruitarian, a lacto-ovo vegetarian and maybe even a kangatarian (yup, it's what you think it is); not to mention several people on a juice cleanse. So subsisting on blood really isn't that far outside the norm here. And Mick has a contact in the city morgue who supplies him with blood in neatly labeled medical bags. There's no neck-biting frenzy and no trail of bodies. It's all very civilized.

My adjustment to Mick's status as a non-human was aided by the fact that I trusted him from the moment I met him. I can't explain why, but being around Mick has always made me feel safe – like having my own private force field. Finding out that he's a vampire didn't change that, even when logic said that it should. Vampirism is simply another facet of Mick St. John, like his wavy brown hair and his dislike of emo music.

Still, we didn't start dating immediately. Mick didn't think relationships between humans and vampires are a good idea and I already had a boyfriend. Our work lives kept intersecting though, and looking back, it seems obvious that Fate had plans for the two of us. We were a good investigative team; we found missing people and solved murders together. And with every case I found myself being more and more drawn to him…and less committed to my boyfriend. Mick is an amazing PI. He's smart, intuitive, and keeps his head when things get crazy. Outside of work, he has a playful sense of humor that he shares only with his closest friends. He's eighty-six years old but looks thirty, and he wears a pair of jeans about as well as any guy out there. He thinks I walk behind him into crime scenes because I want to be safe. The reality is, I'm just taking in the view.

Mick felt the attraction between us, too, but he resisted it for months. Like I said, he didn't think relationships between vampires and humans could work out. Even when I made my feelings clear, he tried to keep his distance. Then, in one of those annoying, rom-com sorts of twists, he finally began coming around romantically at precisely the same moment that _I_ started to have doubts. I'm sure you can guess some of my concerns. There was; _what happens when I start_ _to get old and wrinkly and he still looks thirty?_ Not to mention; _he's immortal – so exactly how many women has he been with?_

It seemed like the two of us were never going to get in sync relationship-wise, until one emotional afternoon when a series of tragic events in a murder case drove him to tell me that he loved me – most emphatically. He said the only thing that mattered was how we felt about each other and that everything else was unimportant. Then he kissed me long and hard and he took me to bed. It was a dramatic and satisfying conclusion to a year of _will we/won't we_ uncertainty.

I realize this sounds a bit fairy tale-ish...or at least like the happy conclusion to a fangirl's favorite TV ship. You know what I mean; Mulder finally kisses Scully, Jane admits his love to Lisbon, Booth and Bones hook up at long last. And I suppose it sort of is. But I'd be the last person to finish the story with things ending happily ever after. I mean - let's face it; real life doesn't stop because you finally admit your feelings for each other and tumble into bed. At some point you have to get out from under the covers, earn a living, and decide who's going to clean the bathroom and take out the garbage. There are a thousand mundane things that happen every day, and now you have to figure out how you're going to navigate them as a couple. It's an adjustment under normal circumstances. But when half of that couple is human and the other half is a vampire? Then it gets even more complicated.

So, this is the story about what happened after Mick and I declared our love and came up for air. Who knows? If you end up getting involved with a vampire, there could be a few pointers for you here. And before you scoff - there are more of them out there than you might think.

Oh - and for all the writers who aren't sure about the canon for vampire sex? I can tell you from first-hand experience that vampire-human sex is not only possible; it can also be very, very good. Immortality combined with dedicated practice leads to amazing results.


	2. Chapter 2

"Any progress on your missing girl case?" I asked Mick.

It was a Friday evening and we were having dinner in my kitchen. And by _we_ , I really mean _me_. _I_ was the only one eating. Mick was keeping me company by leaning against the counter and sipping a glass of wine. Vampires can't ingest solids, but alcohol works fine with their undead metabolisms. I once watched Mick and his best vampire-buddy, Josef, put away a quart of Scotch in a single sitting.

Mick grimaced. "No – not much progress," he replied. "It's like the girl didn't talk to _anyone_ in LA. I've approached all the logical people to ask and they just give me blank looks and say they never met her."

I shook my head. "Her parents must be worried sick."

The minute I said the words, I regretted them. Mick takes all his cases seriously, but Missing Persons really get to him. He hates to see the family in pain. He was probably already beating himself up for not finding the girl and I'd just made it worse.

I tried to make amends. "I'm not working tomorrow," I offered. "If you want, I can help you research leads."

Mick raised one eyebrow. He's a master of the ironic eyebrow raise and he uses it very effectively. I don't think it's a vampire thing – I think it's leftover from his human life.

"You work all week as a civilian investigator for the LAPD," he said, "and then you want to relax on the weekend by doing more investigating?" He grinned. "Beth, we need to work on your definition of _day off_."

I grinned back at him, pleased to see that my little gaff hadn't dampened his mood. I like when Mick teases me. It's happening more frequently now that we're a couple. And I was also pleased to see him joke about my job with the LAPD. Typically, he's not too happy about it. It's not the job so much as it's my boss. I report to Assistant District Attorney Ben Talbot. Ben is in his early thirties, tall and attractive, and we spend quite a bit of time together. He and Mick clashed from the first moment they met and it hasn't improved since.

I got up and put my empty dinner plate in the sink, then walked over and stood next to Mick. "If researching leads with you on Saturday means we get to spend more time together," I said, "then I'm all for working on my day off." I gave him a playful nudge with my elbow. "It's kind of weird, when you think about it. When we _weren't_ a couple, I kept bumping into you at crime scenes. You were always underfoot. Now that we're together, we rarely work the same case. I feel like I don't see you enough."

Mick shrugged, the movement causing his arm to brush against mine. "You were a reporter back then," he replied, "and you picked your own stories. I don't know if it was luck or fate, but you ended up covering a lot of the cases that I was working." He paused. "Now, Talbot tells you what you can investigate. There doesn't seem to be a lot of overlap." It was clear from his tone that he preferred it when I was employed as a reporter.

I thought about reminding him that I was happy at the LAPD and generally liked Ben Talbot as a boss. Ben respects my skills and is always interested in my ideas. I decided, however, that _that_ discussion really would dampen the mood. Besides, Mick brushing my arm had given me other ideas. It was a Friday evening, we both had a little wine in us, and standing close to him reminded me how great he smells. It's a combination of clean laundry and just a whiff of spice. I don't think it's from cologne, either, because I've never seen cologne at Mick's place. I'm pretty sure it's all him.

As if he could read my thoughts, Mick put his wine down and moved his hands to my waist. "Why are we wasting time talking about Talbot?" he murmured. His eyes twinkled slightly before he placed a long, slow kiss on my neck, just under my ear. Mick stands a smidge over six feet, half a foot taller than I am, so he had to bend down a little to do it.

I closed my eyes and smiled. "You smelled my pheromones, didn't you?"

"Mmmm?" he mumbled against my neck.

"You did that vampire-thing where you smelled my pheromones," I repeated. "That's how you knew I was thinking about sex just now."

Mick lifted his head an inch. "Maybe," he admitted. "Is that a bad thing?"

I thought about it. "Nooo-" I replied slowly. "It just means that a surprise seduction is probably off the table for me. You'll always know when I'm in the mood for love – maybe even before I do."

Mick took a half a step back so that he could look me in the eye. "Beth," he said seriously, his hands still at my waist, "you do at least one thing every day that surprises me. And given that I just celebrated my eighty-sixth birthday, that's saying something. So what if I can tell when you're lusting after me? I kind of like it." He grinned impudently, like an overgrown teenager.

"Well, for starters, it's embarrassing, considering how often I think about sleeping with you."

"Don't be embarrassed. It boosts my ego. Don't you always say that I should feel good about myself?"

"For being a good investigator and a good person. Not for having great abs and a big-" I stopped abruptly. Something had just occurred to me. "Does this mean that all those months ago, before we started dating, you knew when I was thinking about you in _that_ way? Did you smell my pheromones back then?"

Mick went back to his single eyebrow raise. "It depends," he replied. "Which answer is going to get me into the least trouble?"

"Any answer that's untruthful is going to get you into trouble."

He sighed. "Fine. I could smell some level of pheromones back then, but I didn't read too much into it. Most women will respond to a male vampire with _some_ sexual interest. It doesn't indicate admiration or love." He smiled wryly. "Believe me, Beth, you had me so off balance in those days, I didn't assume anything."

I could see that he was telling the truth. Being a vampire has given Mick some extraordinary abilities, but enhanced lying isn't one of them.

I smiled. "Well, now that we've established that I'm having very adult thoughts about you, don't you think we should do something about it?"

His eyes lit up. "Okay."

* * *

A good while later we lay in bed, awake but not exactly lively. Good sex will do that to you. Mick was on his back and I was half-sprawled over him, with my head on his chest and one leg draped over his torso. I didn't look in the mirror, but I'm pretty sure my hair was a tangled mess and my eyes were barely open. My body felt limp – in the best possible way. Mick looked less disheveled but still relaxed, although he was gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling. I knew exactly what that gaze meant.

It was decision time. Did he stay, or did he head back to his place? It was one of the few things I wasn't crazy about in our relationship – this question of whether we were going to spend the _whole_ night together. You see, human and vampire sleep habits are not exactly compatible.

Just to clarify; Vampires definitely _do_ sleep – and they can sleep at night - but they like to do it in a cold place. They find the chilly air to be restorative. A night under the blankets in a warm bed does nothing for their rest and well-being. Mick would stay if I asked him, but it would be the human equivalent of trying to sleep in a cramped, economy airplane seat. He'd doze a little, shift around a lot, and feel achy and tired the next morning.

Like most vamps in LA, Mick keeps a large freezer in his apartment, hidden from casual visitors and his PI clients. It's where he sleeps and occasionally goes to think about things. It looks horribly uncomfortable and completely unromantic to me, but it definitely refreshes him. I once asked his friend, Josef, who's somewhere around four hundred years old, what vampires did to find cold before the age of electricity.

Josef had laughed.

" _Well, to start with, we didn't live in warm climates like LA," he'd replied. "And we used to sleep in cellars and holes in the ground. It's probably where some of the old legends about vampires emerging from the earth come from." Then he'd grinned. "I'm not crazy about everything in the modern world, but freezers are a huge improvement. They're clean and insect-free. I wouldn't want to go back to sleeping in a damp, smelly dungeon."_

I propped myself up on the mattress and studied Mick's face. It would be an exaggeration to say he looked haggard, because vampires almost never look that way unless they're starving or severely wounded. However, I had the feeling he could use some rest. If nothing else, it would help him think more clearly about his missing girl case.

I ran a finger lightly up and down his arm. "Why don't you head home," I suggested. "You look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Mick raised his head slightly so that he could meet my eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Because I can stay."

I could tell from his voice that he wanted his freezer. I shook my head. "It's fine. I'll head to your place in the morning and we can work on your case together."

An odd expression flitted across Mick's face and was gone before I was even sure I'd seen it. "Why don't you take your time and get to my place right after lunch," he proposed. "The girl's parents are stopping by then to give me more information. I'd like you to listen." He frowned at the ceiling. "I keep feeling like there's something off with the two of them – like they're not telling me everything – but maybe it's my imagination. I'd be interested in your take on them."

I felt a small sting. We'd talked earlier about how we weren't spending enough time together - and now he was telling me to wait to come over until the afternoon? I immediately wondered if he had plans for the morning that he didn't want me to know about. In the past, Mick kept a few aspects of his vampire lifestyle hidden from me. I'd thought our relationship had grown beyond that, but suddenly I wasn't so certain.

On the other hand, I have a tendency to be suspicious. It made me a good reporter, but it's not always helpful in relationships. There are times when you just have to trust your partner.

"Okay," I said. "I'll see you right after lunch."

"Okay."

Mick slid out of bed and gathered up his clothes from the floor. For most of the time I've known him, he's worn his hair on the longish side – over his ears but not down to his shoulders. I've always found it a bit bohemian for a guy who was born in the nineteen-twenties and served in World War II. Shortly after we started dating, however, he surprised me by cutting it shorter. When I asked him why, he mumbled something about marking a major life change. I suspect the real reason is that he lost a bet with Josef. Now that I'm used to seeing his hair above his ears, I like it. It's a rough, masculine look that fits his personality perfectly.

I watched him get dressed, hoping he would take his time. I suppose at some point I might become accustomed to seeing all of him, but after only a couple of months as a couple, it's still new and very enjoyable. Mick is muscular, but not in a bulky way. He's lean, with narrow hips and long legs, and he follows a workout regime that gives him well-defined shoulders and arms. You wouldn't think vampires need exercise, but I guess even their bodies can benefit from weightlifting.

Mick finished dressing all too quickly, then leaned over the bed and kissed me on the forehead. He started to straighten up, but paused when he spotted the book on the nightstand.

"Tanya Huff?" he asked.

"Mmmm. _The Blood Books_."

"Another gift from Josef, I assume."

I smiled. "Yup."

It was a running joke. At one point or another, I had told Mick's best blood-drinking pal that I hadn't read a lot of vampire fiction or watched a lot of vampire movies, even as a teen. Josef had pretended to be horrified and had immediately started sending me books and DVDs to – in his words – _further my education_. Some of it was silly, but much of it was surprisingly good.

None of it was one hundred percent accurate.

Mick grinned. "So what's your review?"

I looked into his twinkling eyes. "These are very good," I said honestly. "She knows how to tell a story."

"Summary?"

"Set in modern day Toronto. Henry Fitzroy, five –hundred-year-old vampire, helps human female PI solve crimes – most of them supernatural. There's a love triangle in it for good measure; both Henry and the PI's former partner are in love with her."

Mick continued grinning. "Kind of sounds like you and me – except in our story, the _vampire_ is the PI and there is no love triangle." His grin faded. "There _isn't_ a love triangle – right?"

I shook my head. "No – no love triangle."

"Whew." He made a show of wiping his brow in relief. "Well, I'm off. Goodnight, Beth. Sleep well and I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Night." I replied.

And with a wave of his hand, he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The problem with having a suspicious nature is that it's really hard to bury your suspicions, no matter how much you might want to. Long after Mick left, I lay awake, bothered by what he might or might not be hiding from me. I kept telling myself that it was silly to be upset about him wanting the morning to himself. Then I would recall the expression on his face and terrible explanations for it would pop into my head. Maybe Mick had stopped drinking blood from bags and was getting his refreshment from a beautiful twenty-year-old. Or maybe his blood-sucking ex-wife, Coraline, was back in his life. They were the same worries that any insecure girlfriend has, except bizarrely twisted by the fact that he's a vampire. I finally slept, but not deeply, and I woke far too early for a Saturday morning.

At eight a.m. I decided I was going to head to his apartment, regardless of what we'd agreed to last night. If I didn't, I was going to be a basket case by noon. I showered and dressed in jeans and a pale blue, feminine hoodie. I can glam up pretty well when I put my mind to it, but my preferred mode of dress is casual, especially on the weekend. I tied my hair in a ponytail, swiped on a little mascara, and took a peek in the mirror. To give you a quick visual; I'm about five foot-six inches tall, with sandy blonde hair and wideset blue eyes. I'm slightly curvy, despite the fact that I've dropped a few pounds since I started dating Mick. One of the side effects, I suppose, of being with a guy who never eats. I was relieved to see from my reflection that I didn't look too crazy – just a little tired.

Traffic was light and I got to Mick's apartment building faster than usual. It dawned on me as I rode the elevator to the top floor that I hadn't invented an excuse for coming over early. Nothing really plausible came to mind, so I decided to say that I was bored sitting around my place. It's lame, I know, but it's consistent with my nature and I figured Mick would buy it. And it was better than saying I was coming over to catch him doing whatever it was he didn't want me to know about.

When I got out of the elevator, I was surprised to see empty boxes in the hallway. Mick owns the entire floor and has no next-door neighbors. Typically, the area is as neat as a pin, with polished marble floors and a few pieces of modern art hanging on the walls. His PI office is next to his apartment (giving him the world's shortest commute), and the whole atmosphere screams _privacy_ , which is a good thing for a vampire - _and_ for a PI. I tried to guess what might have been in the boxes and came up empty as the boxes themselves.

I marched to his door and rapped on it loudly. For a few seconds I heard nothing; however, it was the kind of nothing where you're pretty sure that the person is home and taking his time to answer the door. I could feel my anger beginning to simmer and lifted my hand to knock again. Before I could, however, the door opened and Mick stood there. It was hard not to miss his face falling a bit when he realized it was me.

"Beth," he said, "you're early."

"Is that a problem?" I asked sharply.

His eyes widened. "No," he replied mildly. "It's not a problem." He shrugged. "I was just hoping to have everything finished before you got here. I still have a little bit of work left on your surprise." He stepped back from the doorway to let me into his apartment. "Now that you're here, you may as well see it."

He was working on a surprise for me? Okay – that was _not_ one of the several dozen things I had imagined last night when I was tossing and turning in bed. I glanced around, but couldn't see any wrapped presents or changes to his apartment.

"It's upstairs," he said, as if he'd heard my thoughts.

I silently followed him up the stairs to the second floor of his airy, loft apartment. We don't typically spend much time on the second floor. It contains a king-sized bathroom with adjoining space for his sleeping freezer, as well as a couple of spare rooms that Mick uses for storage. Mick does most of his real living on the first floor. He led me to one of the storage rooms and opened the door.

"Here it is," he said. "What do you think?"

I poked my head in the doorway and then stopped.

The room contained a bed; a real, queen-sized bed, ready to be made up with the sheets, blankets and a comforter that were piled at its foot. Next to the bed was a nightstand, and there was a dresser along one of the walls, still under assembly. Mick was turning the place into a bedroom – something he had never needed for himself.

"I thought having a bedroom at my place might make things easier for us," Mick explained. "I can move back and forth between the freezer and the bed, and you don't have to sleep on the couch any longer if you spend the night." He walked into the room and slid open another door. "I've almost finished clearing out the closet, too," he added, showing me the empty space, "so you can keep some clothes here, if you want."

I could feel my jaw dropping. I had spent an entire night tortured by thoughts of Mick keeping secrets from me when the man was actually working on a plan that would allow us to spend more time together. My eyes began filling with tears.

"Beth?"

I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

"Beth – I'm sorry if I presumed too much," he said, misreading me entirely. "I realize I should have asked you before I went ahead and made a bedroom for us. It's just that I don't like having to leave your place after we… _you know_ …and I thought maybe you felt the same. I can take it apart and leave things the way they were if you don't-"

"It's perfect."

"What?"

"It's perfect, Mick. I can't imagine anything making me happier."

His eyes lit up. For an octogenarian vampire, he can look very boyish when he's glad. I walked up to him, put my arms around his neck and hugged him hard.

"While I'm on a roll," he whispered in my ear, still holding me, "I also thought you might want a key to the apartment. You know, to go along with the closet space and the bed."

A key to his place. My knees buckled slightly and I tightened my arms to keep from falling. "I lied," I said him. "You just managed to make me even happier."

"That's good."

I suppose you're thinking this doesn't seem like that big of a deal. Men and women, at least those dating seriously, exchange keys to their places all the time. But for Mick – who has some major trust issues – this was a big step. Like all vamps, Mick is ultra-private and forever vigilant about keeping the rest of the world from knowing his true nature. On top of that, he had a very unhealthy relationship with his psycho vampire ex-wife. It was so bad that he avoided getting involved with _any_ woman for a long time. That he was willing to trust me now with access to his home meant a lot.

I let go of him and pointed to the bed. "I can help you make this up now," I suggested.

He shrugged. "There's no rush. I still need to finish putting the dresser together and cleaning out the closet."

Sometimes men, even vampires, can be clueless.

I raised one eyebrow – or at least I tried to. My skills in that department aren't as good as Mick's. "Are your pheromone-sniffing skills on the fritz this morning?" I asked him. "I can help you make up the bed now. So we can, you know, _make sure it works okay_."

He inhaled quietly. "Ohhhhh," he said. Then he grinned. "It probably _is_ a good idea to test it out." He grabbed the bottom sheet and started tugging it over the mattress, using a little of his vampire-speed to hurry the job along. As I started to unzip my hoodie, he added, "Just remember that the Fergusons are going to be here in a few hours to talk about their missing daughter. We want to leave enough time to meet them in a presentable state."

"Right."

* * *

Jill and Larry Ferguson looked like your stereotypical, middle-aged, not-from-LA couple. Jill's hair was colored an almost-believable auburn, and she wore slacks and a sweater set accessorized by a pair of pearl earrings. Larry's hair was brown with streaks of grey, thinning a bit on the top. He wore dress pants and a button down shirt that strained a little over his belly. They both seemed nervous. But then, of course, their daughter was missing.

After Mick and I had tested out the bed (which performed quite satisfactorily), we'd gone to his office and he'd filled me in on the details of his missing girl case. It was a variation of a story I'd heard more than a few times. Tammi Ferguson – cheerleader, wholesome beauty and good student – comes to Los Angeles from her home in Indiana to attend college. At some point during her first semester she tells her parents that a talent agent has spotted her and thinks she has the potential to be a model or even an actress. She informs Mom and Dad that she's decided to take a break from classes to pursue her career as a star. If it doesn't work out, she can always go back to school. Her parents are horrified and order her to get back to her classes. There's an exchange of phone calls and emails, which escalate in intensity until Tammi stops responding.

At first her parents think she's sulking; she can do that sometimes. But as the days become a week, they start to worry. And when the week becomes two and they still haven't heard from their daughter – they're frantic. They call a private investigator.

Mick had first met the Fergusons a week ago. They'd supplied him with photos of their daughter, her UCLA class schedule and not much else. Mick had then taken the typical first steps for locating a missing person; he'd checked her social media accounts and he'd gone to the campus to interview students who might know her. He'd also had his friend, Logan Griffen, a nineteenth century vampire with twenty-first century hacking skills, pull up her cell phone records. The search hadn't yielded much.

"Look at her Instagram account," Mick had said to me before the Fergusons had arrived. "Notice anything odd?"

I looked over his shoulder at the computer monitor as he scrolled through Tammi's photos. They were mostly of the UCLA campus – buildings and green lawns with trees – and they were labeled with captions like; _Can't get_ _enough of this sunny California weather_ , and; _Am I lucky or what?_

"There are no pictures of people," I'd said to Mick. "It's all scenery."

"Exactly," Mick had agreed. "There's no one here I can locate and ask about Tammi." He'd shaken his head. "I went to her classes and showed her picture to a lot of students. No one remembers seeing her."

"Some of those freshman classes are pretty big, Mick."

Mick had pushed a photo in front of me. "This is Tammi. She's a beautiful blonde cheerleader who looks like she belongs in _High School Musical_. Believe me, some guy is going to remember seeing her if she sat in his class. He'd be thinking up ways to ask her out."

I'd glanced at the photo and hadn't been able to argue. Tammi was slim, with flawless skin and a cute, pert nose. Her smile was amazingly symmetric and her teeth were white and even.

"I'm wondering if she ever intended to go to class at all," Mick had continued. "Maybe UCLA is a trick she pulled on her parents so that she could get out to California on her own. I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to do the model/acting thing all along and was too afraid to tell them."

I'd shrugged. "If it's a trick, it's a pretty elaborate one," I'd said. "She had to apply to UCLA - and the acceptance rate is less than twenty percent. There are a lot of easier subterfuges that would have gotten her out here." I grinned and punched him lightly on his shoulder. "And I'm kind of surprised you know about _High School Musical_. You don't strike me as a Disney sort of guy. Is this another Mick St. John secret that I don't know about?"

Mick's rejoinder had been cut short by the arrival of the Fergusons.

And now the four of us sat in Mick's office, with the Indiana couple shifting uneasily in their seats. Larry settled a bit as he began talking to Mick but Jill couldn't seem to keep still. Her hands fluttered anxiously – from her purse, to her sweater, to the chair she was sitting on. It was distracting and Larry gave his wife an annoyed look before handing Mick a manila folder.

"We were able to get into Tammi's email account and found these," he said. "We thought they might help, since you don't seem to be making much progress otherwise."

Mick took the folder and opened it, ignoring the implied criticism. I expect he's used to it. People don't go to see a PI because they're happy with their lives. They go because they have a problem and they're hoping the PI can pull off a miracle. When he doesn't, they get angry.

"Do you know this Bruce Phillips guy?" Mick asked the Fergusons, pointing to the sender's name on the emails. "Did you ever hear Tammi mention him?"

Both Jill and Larry shook their heads. "It's the first time we've ever seen his name," Larry replied, "and we knew all of her friends in high school. The only thing I can tell you," he added, "is that these emails all date from _after_ she went out to UCLA. We think Phillips has to be somebody she met in California. And he seems to be the one promising her the career in Hollywood."

"Okay." Mick nodded. "I'll look into it."

"I'm going to have to head back to Indiana," Larry continued. "My boss isn't going to give me any more time off. My wife is going to stay here for a couple more weeks, though. Hopefully, you'll have found Tammi by then." His tone suggested he had doubts about that happening.

Mick narrowed his eyes, but merely replied, "Well, I expect we'll have better news soon, especially with this new information."

There wasn't much more to say. The Fergusons got to their feet and Mick walked them to the office door. From there, he watched until they got on the elevator. Then he came back to his desk and sat down.

"What do you think?" he asked.

I shrugged. "They seem normal enough. It's a familiar story – kid comes out to LA for school and gets distracted by the bright lights of Hollywood. I'll admit it's a bit weird that no one remembers seeing Tammi, but as you said, maybe she never went to classes." I stopped and studied Mick's expression. "Why do you think there's something wrong?"

He leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin on his fist. "I agree the story seems pretty typical on the surface. It's just that there's a bunch of little things that don't add up."

"Such as?"

"Such as they didn't know if their daughter had a roommate." He shook his head. "I went into the army, not college, and it's certainly been a few years, but don't kids typically call their roommate before they get out to school? You know, just to introduce themselves? Her parents had no idea who their daughter might be living with." He sat back and sighed. "And when I call either Ferguson, they don't pick up until the third or fourth ring. Most parents with a missing kid answer on the first ring – no matter what time of day or night it is."

"Maybe they're in denial – or shock."

He gave me a doubtful glance. "After a week, they should be past _denial_ and into _desperate_. You heard Larry just now. He doesn't think I'll find her. If that's the case, why isn't he hiring a different PI? A frantic parent would do anything." He scratched his jaw. "Hell, even their names – _Jill and Larry Ferguson_. They feel a bit too…stereotypical."

" _Stereotypical_. That's a big word for a guy who didn't go to college."

"Funny, Beth, very funny." He paused, then added, "Are you surprised by that?"

I started to shake my head, but then decided to be honest. "A little. You're a well-read guy and you always seem to want to learn new things. I'm surprised you didn't go to college after the army. Wasn't the G.I. Bill enacted in the forties?"

Mick nodded. "It was. I think I told you I was a medic in the army. I thought about going to college to become a doctor."

"So what happened?"

"I met Coraline and she turned me before I had a chance to go. Once I became a vampire – well, I didn't think a profession that spent a lot of time around blood was going to be a good idea."

I laughed. "That's probably true."

"And besides, I like being a PI."

"You're certainly good at it."

His shoulders slumped. "It doesn't feel like it at the moment."

I reached across his desk and took his hand. "Don't let the Ferguson's discourage you. Believe me, Mick – if Tammi can be found, you'll find her."

He gave me a rueful smile. "Thanks. It's nice to hear _someone_ has confidence in me."

"What are you planning to do next?"

"I'll locate Bruce Phillips and see if he can tell me anything."

I nodded. I didn't have any better ideas.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce Phillips turned out to be a pretty common name.

Mick went into his PI databases and was able to find a half dozen _Bruce Phillipses_ in the LA area. One was six years old and in first grade and another was ninety-six and in a nursing home, but the other four could all potentially be Tammi's correspondents. In his emails, Bruce promised Tammi a future filled with fame and glamour as an actor, but gave few personal details about himself and no clue about where he worked. It made it difficult to narrow down the list.

"There's nothing in these that even hints at the name of a talent agency," I said to Mick, waving the stack of emails in the air, "which suggests that he probably isn't a legitimate agent."

Mick sighed. "No, he probably isn't," he agreed. "And there's nothing that suggests that he and Tammi knew each other before she came out here for school. That blows my theory about Tammi never intending to go to college out of the water."

I frowned. "So if she originally expected to go to college, then why does no one remember seeing her at UCLA? I mean, she would have attended at least a few classes before she decided to drop out. "

Mick shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me."

We looked at each other across his desk. I could tell from Mick's frown that Tammi's disappearance was really bothering him. I tried to think of a few helpful ideas, but nothing came to mind.

"What are you going to do?" I finally asked.

Mick lowered his gaze to the computer monitor. "I've got the driver's license information for the four Bruce Phillipses," he replied, gesturing at the screen. "I'm going to do some good old fashioned legwork and go to their homes and interview each of them. With luck, one of them will be the guy who's emailing her."

_Good old fashioned legwork._ I glanced at the clock. It was after three on a Saturday afternoon. I'd been looking forward to a quiet evening at his place, putting our almost-cohabitation arrangement into effect. Interviewing the four candidates, assuming he even found them at their homes, would take six or seven hours.

So much for a quiet evening together.

"Are you going to interview _all_ of them today?" I asked wistfully. I didn't try to disguise the fact that I hoped his answer would be _no_.

He looked at me and smiled. "I was thinking I could prioritize. According to their driver's licenses, the four Bruce Phillipses range in age from nineteen to fifty-five. The nineteen-year-old is probably too young to pose as an agent – fake or legit. Since the emails don't suggest any kind of friendship with Tammi, I think we can move him to the bottom of the list." He leaned forward to study the monitor closely. "And the fifty-five-year-old Bruce Phillips has a special license. He's a truck driver and I'm guessing he's on the road a lot. That drops him to second-to-last." He sat back. "So, I was thinking I'd pay the other two a visit," he said. "I can show them the emails and study their reactions."

I hated to be a downer, but I had to point something out. "You realize _Bruce Phillips_ could just be a made-up email name for someone whose real name is something else entirely," I said.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I know. I'd call Logan and ask him to get online and see what he can find out about the email account, but he's at a Star Wars convention this weekend and won't be available til Monday."

"Logan goes to Star Wars conventions?" I asked. It seemed a little odd for a vampire.

Mick grinned. "Logan likes anything science fiction. Star Wars, Star Trek, Comic Con – he goes to 'em all. It's about the only thing that will get him out of his basement."

I've met Logan a couple of times. He's a bit heavyset and he definitely has a geeky air about him. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised by the sci fi thing. "Just how old _is_ Logan, anyway?" I asked Mick.

He paused. "You know, I'm not really sure. He's older than I am – I think he was turned sometime in the nineteenth century. He's got an original edition of _Frankenstein_ , and that was published in 1817."

"Wow."

"Anyway," Mick continued. "I was also thinking that while I interviewed two of the Bruce Phillipses, you could make a trip to your place and bring some of your stuff over. You know, toothbrush, pajamas, whatever you need to settle in a bit. Then we can stay in this evening and watch a movie or something."

Or something.

It was my turn to smile. "Sounds like plan," I agreed.

* * *

After Mick left in search of Bruce Phillips Number One and before I headed back to my apartment, I went to his bathroom to make a quick inventory of his toiletries. I felt a bit sneaky looking in his medicine cabinet, but then I reminded myself that it was now _my_ medicine cabinet, too – at least sort of. And I needed to know what I should bring from home. I'm not a high maintenance diva, but a girl has to have a few necessities handy.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I was a little surprised to find that Mick's cabinet contained most of the things you'd normally see in a human male's bathroom; shaving stuff, toothpaste, shower gel, shampoo. _Apparently vampire grooming isn't all that different from humans,_ I thought. _Another myth bites the dust_. The shampoo was an overwhelmingly masculine brand, but I figured I could make do with the rest of his toiletries. And I was delighted to find that he had a good stock of towels – large and fluffy. They were nicer than my towels at home.

I went back to my place and loaded up my largest suitcase with PJs, underwear, a few outfit changes and some girly items he was lacking; lotion, facial cleanser, cosmetics, and a hair dryer. I glanced at my feminine hygiene supply and decided to hold off packing any of it. Mick and I once worked a case where we found a flash drive in a box of tampons. He'd handled it better than a lot of guys, but I didn't think he was ready to see _those_ products greeting him in his bathroom in the morning. We were moving pretty fast as it was.

He wasn't home when I got back to his apartment, and I felt a small thrill as I used my key to let myself in for the first time. I was just about to drag my suitcase up the stairs to the new bedroom when there was a knock at the door. I glanced at the security monitor and wasn't too surprised to see Josef Kostan standing in the hallway. I think I've already mentioned Josef. He's Mick's oldest and best vampire friend, and he's a frequent visitor to Mick's apartment - or at least he is when he isn't off wheeling and dealing on behalf of the hedge fund he owns. I don't know exactly how wealthy Josef is, but I'm pretty sure his assets measure in the hundreds of millions, if not billions.

I opened the door.

"Beth," he said, nodding in acknowledgement and moving past me into the apartment. He looked around expectantly and then frowned. "Mick's not here?" he asked.

I smiled. "Hello. Nice to see you, too, Josef. No – Mick's out at the moment, working a case. I expect him home any time, though."

Josef raised his eyebrows. " _You expect him home any time?_ " he repeated. "Well, that sounds very …domestic."

I'll try my best to describe Josef, although I'm not sure I can do justice to his personality. He's a complicated guy. Josef is a four-hundred-year-old vampire who looks like he's barely twenty-five. He's average height and slim, with boyish blue eyes, close-cropped sandy hair, and a mind that is never still. Unlike Mick, Josef embraces being a vampire and treats humans, if not with disdain, then with indifference. We're sources of liquid refreshment – here today and gone tomorrow. He's smart, cynical, and impatient; and he can be very ruthless when he thinks someone is in his way.

All of which makes him sound unlikeable. And yet... I like him. I think it's because of the way he is with Mick. Josef would die rather than say the words out loud, but I'm pretty sure he loves Mick like a brother. The two of them argue, tease one another and disagree over a lot of things. When the shit hits the fan, however, they have each other's backs. Josef tries to help Mick adjust to life as a vamp and Mick tries to keep Josef from getting buried in his cynicism. They are each better for knowing the other.

Mick is more open about his feelings for Josef. He'll acknowledge his friend's shortcomings, but defend him to the hilt if he thinks Josef is under attack. The only time I have ever seen Mick cry is when he believed Josef had been killed in an explosion.

Observant as always, Josef's eyes quickly zeroed in on my suitcase, sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Are you and Mick going on a vacation," he asked. "Or are you moving in?"

For some reason, I didn't want to tell Josef about the bedroom or the key. It felt like Mick's story to share with his friend. So instead I replied, "Neither. I'm just keeping a few things at Mick's to make it easier if I end up spending the night."

He shrugged. "So then I guess it has nothing to do with the furniture I saw Mick ordering a couple of weeks ago? Because I could have sworn he was getting a bedroom set up for you."

"You know about that?"

"Yup." His expression was serious and not at all encouraging.

I sighed and prepared myself for a barrage of sarcasm. Josef doesn't think human-vamp relationships are a good idea, although for an entirely different reason than Mick. Mick worries about both parties getting hurt. Josef just doesn't think humans are worth the effort.

I looked down at my hands. "Okay – we may as well get it over with. Go ahead and give me the lecture about how Mick and I are being stupid."

Josef regarded me steadily. "Normally, I'd be delighted to oblige, Beth," he said dryly, "but I haven't seen Mick this happy in a long time – probably for as long as I've known him. I might have even caught him humming along with the radio the other day. So I'm going to hold off on any smart-ass comments about your relationship, at least for now. I reserve the right to bring them up later, of course."

I felt my eyes pool up – just a little. These are the moments that make me believe Josef has a heart under his caustic exterior - even if it's a slightly twisted heart.

I didn't want to get gushy, so I simply said, "Thanks."

He shrugged again. "Well, now that we've established that you're officially the lady of the house, how about getting your guest something to drink? I spent a lot of time on the phone arguing with one of my employees today. I'm thirsty."

I smiled and replied, "Of course," before I realized that I didn't know what _kind_ of drink Josef wanted. Whiskey? Water? Blood? And if blood, then from where? Was there some weird vampire tradition where the _lady of the house_ offers herself up for quick snack? Mick has never drunk my blood – well, except for one time when he was dying from sun exposure - and then he couldn't look me in the eye for a month afterward. But I'd _seen_ Josef drink from a vast array of female friends and employees. Maybe he thought being Mick's girlfriend made me fair game. I looked at him uncertainly.

He gave me a teasing grin, but eventually took pity on me. "Mick keeps blood in his fridge," he explained. "It's not a good vintage – for some reason he likes A-positive, but – hey – any port in a storm."

I breathed out in relief. "Oh. Okay." As long as Josef didn't want _my_ blood, I figured I could handle pouring the stuff into a glass. I'm not particularly squeamish.

I walked into Mick's galley kitchen and opened the door to his large, stainless steel refrigerator. Mick's kitchen is beautiful. It's all top-end appliances that are immaculately clean – probably because they have never been used. I studied the contents.

Josef stepped behind me and touched my elbow. "Not _that_ refrigerator," he said. "Mick's got a hidden one, behind the shelves in the bar. It's where he keeps his more … unconventional beverages. You haven't seen it?"

I shook my head. "No."

Josef rolled his eyes. "Mick's got to get over his thing about drinking blood in front of you," he said. "I know he's not happy about being a vampire, but it's who he is. Feeding in the closet isn't going to change that."

I didn't reply, although I actually agreed with Josef. I don't want Mick to feel he has to hide anything about himself from me. I know he's a vampire and I know he drinks blood. I may as well see him do it. I started to close the refrigerator door, but Josef reached out to stop me.

"Hang on," he said. "What have we got here? French cheeses? Strawberries and champagne? It looks like Mick is planning on some kind of celebration tonight...a _romantic_ celebration. Maybe I should skip the drink and make myself scarce. I don't want to get in the way of true love."

I turned to look Josef in the eye. After a moment, I shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "Don't rush off on my account," I said. "Mick and I already christened the bed. It works great."

Josef opened his mouth and then closed it. I felt a small glimmer of satisfaction - it isn't often I can make him go quiet. There was a gleam in his eye when he eventually said, "Well…good for you, Beth. I'm glad to hear my boy, Mick, is finally off the celibacy wagon."

I did my best to keep from blushing.

"Still," Josef continued, "I have no wish to be a third wheel. I think I'll just excuse myself and visit you both another time."

He started for the door, but before he could get there, it opened and Mick walked in. He looked agitated. There was a hole in the front of his Henley shirt and it was stained with blood.

"Mick," I cried out. "What happened?"

Mick looked at me helplessly. "I'm not sure," he said. "Someone shot me – but I have no idea who or why." He headed for the couch and dropped tiredly onto it.

Josef watched him for a few seconds and then turned to look at me. "On the other hand," he said, "this sounds like a good story. Maybe I'll stick around for a little while."


	5. Chapter 5

Josef headed to Mick's bar and expertly slid one section of the wall to the side. Just as he'd told me earlier, there was a small refrigerator behind it. He opened the door and pulled out a carafe containing a red liquid.

Blood.

He poured a large glass and walked over to the couch to hand it to Mick. Mick glanced at me apprehensively but I kept my face neutral, as if I'd seen him drink blood dozens of times. After a brief hesitation, he accepted the glass. Then Josef returned to the bar and poured a glass for himself. He grimaced as he sipped, but didn't make any comments about Mick's preference for A-positive. Josef is not the most sensitive of men, but I think even he knew it wasn't a good time to criticize the beverage options.

"What happened?" I asked Mick for the second time.

Mick took a deep swallow of blood. "I honestly don't know. The first Bruce Phillips on the list wasn't home, so I went to the second one. His house is set back from the street, behind a wall. I went through the gate and was walking toward the house when someone just…shot me. I never even had the chance to ring the doorbell."

"How bad is the wound?" I asked.

Mick lifted his bloody shirt and gazed down at his abdomen. "I'll live," he said flatly.

In case you didn't recognize it, that's vampire humor. They have a whole repertoire of wisecracks about being difficult to kill. With a few exceptions, vamps heal fast – especially when they drink blood – and I can tell you for certain that takes more than a bullet to finish one off. The wound on Mick's stomach had already closed and the flesh was fading from red to pink. It's the reason I wasn't making more of a fuss.

"I'm pretty sure the bullet went clean through," Mick added. He turned to expose his back to us. "What do you think?"

Josef glanced casually at Mick's torso and then nodded. "Yeah – there's a hole in the back of your shirt. You're not carrying any lead – which is good for Beth, because I would have made her play doctor and get the bullet out ." He walked over and sat in a chair opposite the sofa, and then grinned at Mick. "It must have hurt like a sonofabitch, though. That couldn't have been fun."

Mick rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Josef. Yes – it hurt. I can think of better ways to spend a Saturday."

"Do you think it was Bruce Phillips who shot you?" I asked. I wanted to get back to the case. The shooting was another thing that didn't add up in Tammi Ferguson's disappearance. Phillips couldn't have known the reason for Mick coming to his house or even who Mick was – so why shoot?

Mick shook his head. "I'm not even sure Phillips was home," he replied. "There were no lights on and the house looked deserted. I'm also pretty certain the shot came from somewhere behind the house – not inside - and it was definitely from a rifle and not a handgun." He drained what was left of the blood in his glass. "It felt like I'd been lured there - like it was some kind of setup."

I frowned. "A setup? Why?"

Mick held up his hands in a _who knows_ gesture.

"Did you vamp-out?" Josef asked suddenly.

 _Vamp-out_ is the vampire community's slang for extending their fangs and having their eyes turn pale. It can happen when they're hurt, about to feed, or about to fight. If you don't believe in vampires, seeing one vamp-out will convince you pretty quickly that they're real. It's how I found out about Mick's true nature all those months ago.

"No, I didn't," Mick said with certainty. "I just got out of there as fast as I could." He sat back on the couch and stared at Josef. "Do you think that's what this is about? Someone wanting to expose me as a vampire? Who?"

Josef got up and returned to the bar. He picked up the carafe of blood and brought it over to refill Mick's glass, then placed the carafe back in the refrigerator and resumed his seat. Apparently one glass of A-positive was enough for him. "I don't know who," he said, "but ever since Emma Monaghan, I've had a feeling that _someone_ is trying to out us."

Mick frowned. "We took care of Emma," he said. "No one found out that she was a vampire."

Josef shrugged noncommittally. "We thought we took care of her, anyway."

Emma Monaghan was a vampire who'd been arrested by the police for killing a college basketball star. The death had been an accident. Emma had been having an affair with the young man and had forgotten her strength and snapped his neck – unfortunately, leaving his body in a rather public place. The death had been traced to her; and since the vampire-mistake aspect couldn't be explained to the police, they'd taken her into custody.

Once in jail, Emma had panicked. She'd threatened to expose herself and the entire LA vampire community unless Mick broke her out. Mick had reluctantly agreed, and with the help of Josef and a few other friends, had successfully liberated her. However, her threat to expose their existence hadn't exactly been popular with LA's vamps. Emma may have escaped the human courts, but the vampire world had its own form of punishment. They'd executed Emma with a flamethrower, and Emma's vampire husband, Jackson, had chosen to share her fate rather than live without her.

At the time, I'd been horrified. Mick and I had just started dating, and the notion that the vampire community would put two of its own to death had unnerved and angered me. In fact, it had nearly made me stop seeing Mick. But in the end, he'd convinced me of two things. The first was that vamps, in their own way, have a system of justice designed to protect both the undead and humans. And the second was that he loved me. After a painful and difficult talk, I'd chosen to believe that he was a man who would do the right thing. I still believe that now.

"Do you think someone in the vampire community is doing this because they're angry over Emma's death?" I asked. "What about Jackson's? He's gone and he wasn't guilty of anything."

Mick exchanged looks with Josef and then shook his head. "I find it very hard to believe that any of us would think Emma was treated unfairly," he said. "After all, she threatened the existence of every vampire in LA. And Jackson made his own choice."

 _Any of us_. Every now and then, Mick uses _us_ in way that reminds me that I'm one of _them_ – a human and not a vampire. I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me a little.

"Are you going to call the Fergusons?" I asked him. "They're the ones who sent you after Bruce Phillips in the first place, so it's logical to think they're part of the setup. You can try to trip them up – see if they reveal anything about a plot."

"They might," Mick said doubtfully. "But it could also be that someone's using them to get to me and they know nothing." He looked at me thoughtfully. "Either way, I think it's better if I lay low for a few days. Someone out there knows he or she shot me. If they catch me running around completely healthy, it'll raise a lot of questions and maybe confirm some suspicions. I'll wait until Logan is back on Monday and have him dig into the emails. We'll see if they tell us anything about who sent them."

Laying low and doing nothing didn't sit well with me. If someone was trying to expose Mick, I wanted to figure out who it was and put a stop to it. "Maybe you should have Logan dummy up some hospital records for you," I suggested. "You know, just in case whoever's behind this checks to see if you were admitted for medical treatment."

Josef gave a low whistle. "I can see why you like her," he said to Mick. "She's always thinking. For a beautiful woman, she has a surprisingly devious mind."

Mick grinned. "She does at that." He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "There's a risk with creating false hospital records, though. What if someone tries to follow up on them? What if they go to interview the doctor or nurses? They'll expect to find a real person – who remembers treating a gunshot wound."

It was a good point. The three of us looked at one another.

"Maybe you should call The Cleaner," Josef suggested. "She might have some ideas for dealing with this."

Mick nodded. "That's an idea."

The Cleaner is a vampire – or group of vampires really – whose sole job is to eliminate all traces of vamp activity and keep their existence a secret. I've never met any of The Cleaners, so I can't tell you much about them. All I know from Mick is that they're female and they're very thorough. If a vamp is involved in anything that could call attention to his undead nature, his first duty is to call The Cleaner and have the situation sanitized.

"So that's the whole plan?" I asked. "Mick's going to lay low, get Logan to hack the emails, and see if The Cleaner can cover his shooting?" I shook my head. "It feels like we should be doing something more, especially if some jerk is out there is trying to reveal the existence of vampires."

I looked over at Mick and found him smiling at me. It was kind of an adoring smile, and it was nice to see. Given the seriousness of the situation, however, it felt out of place.

"What?" I asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He continued smiling. "Just appreciating your can-do attitude, Beth. It's one of the things I love about you. You never give up."

I could tell he really meant it. I smiled back in spite of myself and the room settled into silence. I suspect we appeared a little goofy.

Josef cleared his throat. "Well, I think that's my cue to leave," he said, getting to his feet. "There's champagne in the refrigerator, after all, waiting for the two of you. And with a quick phone call I can have a willing B-Negative donor waiting for _me_ at my house." He gave Mick a more serious look. "You'll let me know what you find out?" he asked. "I mean, if I have to pull up stakes and move because we're about to be exposed, I'd like to know as quickly as possible."

"It won't come to that," Mick replied.

"I hope not," Josef said. "I just had my place redecorated." He headed for the door, but then paused before opening it. "Beth," he called out. "How are you liking Tanya Huff?"

I smiled. "She's good," I said. "Henry is a great vampire character."

Josef grinned. "When you're done with her, I'm thinking we'll try Charlaine Harris next. Her books are the source material for _True Blood_. Lots of juicy vampire sex in them. You and Mick might find a few pointers."

I laughed. "Mick doesn't need any pointers."

I couldn't help noticing that Mick's chest puffed out – just a little.

* * *

As much as I wanted to go after the person who shot Mick, I have to confess that I enjoyed laying low with him for the rest of the weekend. Between work and the basic chores that go along with living, we rarely get to spend a lot of quiet time together. After Josef left, we did indeed drink the champagne and then put the new bedroom to use once more. I fell asleep with Mick beside me, and woke up in the morning to find him still there – although he was now cold to the touch. He must have gone to his freezer in the middle of the night and then come back to bed.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

I noticed that he wasn't wearing a stitch.

"Great," I replied. I turned on my side to face him. "Do you always sleep in the nude?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Usually," he admitted. "Do you mind?"

I shook my head. "Not at all." I glanced down at my sleep shirt. "Except, now I feel a little overdressed."

He studied the shirt. It was royal blue, with pictures of steaming coffee cups all over it. "I like it," he said, "but I agree that it's kind of unnecessary. I can help you solve the problem."

He reached down and pulled the shirt over my head. Then he gently pushed me onto my back and slid over me, propping himself up on his elbows just enough for his body to rest lightly on mine. I shivered.

"I'm cold," he stated.

"You are - a little."

"You'll have to warm me up." He leaned down to kiss me, and at the same time, inserted one knee between my thighs. My legs parted easily and I could feel my body beginning to respond. Mick is one of those lovers who manage to take charge and be considerate at the same time. Maybe it's his vampire senses, but he seems to know what I want before I do. It's never the same, and it's never predictable.

I wound my fingers into his hair and pulled him closer….and events just seemed to flow from there.

A good while later we lay side by side, gazing up at the ceiling. Mick's body was no longer chilly, although he would never be as warm as a human male. It was still early on a Sunday morning, and by my reckoning we'd made love three times in the last twenty-four hours. I recalled Josef's comment about Mick falling off the celibacy wagon and chuckled softly.

"Something funny?" he asked.

I told him what Josef had said, and then added, "When you decide to do something, I guess you do it all the way."

He laughed. "Are you hungry? You didn't eat very much last night."

I realized that I was. "Yes. What have you got?"

"Coffee, tea, a lot of strawberries since you didn't eat any last night, and eggs. I'm happy to cook for you, but it's been a long time since I've done anything in the kitchen. It might be safer if you tackle the eggs yourself."

I stretched lazily and smiled. "No problem. What are you going to do while I'm eating?"

"I thought I'd take a shower, then step into my office and check my email and messages. I doubt the Fergusons will have sent anything, but I think I should look, just in case."

"Sounds like a plan."

We both slid out of bed. Mick headed for the shower while I opted to pull my sleep shirt back on and added a pair of leggings. Then I went downstairs to the kitchen. Mick didn't have a lot of cooking gear, but he did have a small collection of pans and utensils. I located a frying pan and was about to scramble a couple of eggs, when there was a knock at the door.

It was a few minutes after nine on a Sunday morning and I was surprised that anyone would be calling at that hour. I figured it was Josef, since he has little respect for boundaries, but the security camera revealed a woman I had never seen before. She looked like she was in her early-thirties, although the severe way her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail might have added a few years. She was wearing a black leather jacket which, combined with her no-nonsense expression, made her look tough – although in an attractive, almost professional way. I wondered whether she was vampire or human. Most of the time, I can't tell.

Either way, I decided that she looked like someone who would be right at home in a biker bar...and could probably hold her own there if a fight broke out. I opened the door cautiously.

"Yes?" I said.

She eyed me up and down. "Beth Turner?"

I studied her in return. The full-length view showed that she was wearing a pair of black jeans stretched snugly over long, slender legs, with knee-high boots completing the all-black ensemble. She was a couple of inches taller than me and appeared athletic and confident.

I did my best not to be intimidated. "Yes, I'm Beth. Do I know you?"

She shook her head. "No. Mick left a message saying that he wanted to talk to me so I thought I'd drop by. I'm The Cleaner."

 _The Cleaner_. I had been imagining a middle-aged woman in a white smock and rubber gloves. This girl was young, pretty in a lithe, strong sort of way, and evidently a vampire. Given that she had chosen to come to Mick's apartment rather than return his call (like most business people would do), I couldn't help wondering whether she had some kind of prior relationship with him.

"Oh," I said, "you're The Cleaner." I hesitated, then stepped away from the door. "Come on in."

She followed me into Mick's apartment, continuing to eye me curiously. I was starting to find her scrutiny annoying. I was aware that I looked like I'd just gotten up (which I had), but it was barely nine on a Sunday morning. The sleep shirt and bed head shouldn't have seemed unusual, even if _she_ had managed to pull together a coordinated outfit and was wearing makeup for her early morning visit.

"Do I have something on my face?" I asked irritably. "You keep staring."

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped a little. It made her appear less intimidating and more… human. She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "It's just that I've heard so much about you. I didn't know what to expect."

I frowned. "Heard so much about me? From whom?" Had Mick been talking about me to another woman?

She opened her mouth but then paused and glanced cautiously around the apartment. "Is Mick here?" she asked more quietly.

"He's upstairs in the shower."

"Oh – okay." She moved closer and lowered her voice even further. It was clear she wanted to be out of range of his sensitive, vampire hearing. "Well…to be honest…you've been a topic of discussion for a lot of the vampire women in LA lately. Everyone's curious about the human woman who took Mick off the market."

It was my turn to stare at her. "Took Mick off the market?" I repeated.

She smiled weakly. "Yeah…you know. Ever since he divorced Coraline, he's been considered one of our more eligible singles. He's good looking, nice, and he works hard. A number of women have made a play for him but he's never really shown interest – at least not long-term. We all figured he was either a commitment-phobe or gay." She shrugged. "So when he went head over heels for you, it caught us by surprise."

Well, for heaven's sake. My first reaction was to think that vampire women weren't very different from human women when it came to gossip. And my second reaction was to feel a warm, tingling sensation at her use of _head over heels_. I briefly considered trying to quell the gossip by pretending my relationship with Mick wasn't that serious, but I was standing in the guy's apartment on a Sunday morning wearing pajamas. I was also willing to bet that she'd detected his scent all over me. So, to deny our relationship would be pointless.

I decided to ignore the topic of Mick and me and get down to business.

"Well, thank you for coming over," I said. "Mick's in a bit of a jam and we're hoping you can help him with it."

The Cleaner's eyebrows went up. "Really? I'm a little surprised to hear that. Mick's one of the more careful vamps in LA. As long as I've been part of the Cleaning crew, he's never killed anyone or even drained someone to the point where they needed a transfusion." She paused and gave me a guilty look, as if she'd just remembered that she was speaking to a human who might be alarmed by _killing_ and _draining_. "What happened?" she added.

"I got shot," Mick announced as he came down the stairs.

The Cleaner's gaze immediately moved from me to Mick. It was hard to miss the appreciative look she gave him. Mick was wearing jeans and pulling a clean Henley on over his bare torso, with his hair damp from the shower. There's something about a guy at home in jeans and bare feet that I find exceptionally attractive, especially when he's built like Mick. It was clear from her face that The Cleaner felt the same way. I'm not normally the possessive type, but I felt a small, proprietary spark. I wanted to say to her: _Don't even think about it_.

But I didn't need to. Mick's expression warmed as he looked at me and he pressed a light kiss onto my temple. In that one, simple action, he made it clear where his interests lay. Then he was all-business with The Cleaner. He told her about the shooting and his worry that someone was trying to expose him as a vampire. He mentioned the idea of creating false hospital documents as well as the concern that someone might follow up on them.

She listened to the whole story in silence, and then said, "The hospital documents are a good idea. We have a couple of doctors and nurses at Cedars-Sinai, so they can cover for you. I'll have someone create the records today and brief our people on what to say if they're interviewed."

I couldn't help asking, "There are vampires working at the hospital?"

The Cleaner nodded.

"Isn't it tough for them being around all that blood?" I recalled Mick's comment about not going to medical school under the G.I. bill because he'd been turned.

She shrugged. "They're pretty mature – each of them must be at least two or three centuries old. They can control themselves better than the young ones."

"Oh."

The three of us looked at each other. There didn't seem to be a whole lot more to say. The Cleaner had her plan to cover for Mick at the hospital, and Mick and I had _his_ plan to lay low for the rest of the weekend. Then, when Logan was back, on Monday, we could dig into the emails.

"Well," The Cleaner said slowly, "I guess I'll take care of those hospital records now."

"Thanks," Mick said. He didn't offer further discussion.

With a last look at Mick and me, The Cleaner left.


End file.
